


A Pleasant Diversion

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [23]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Flirting, M/M, Poetry, Sexual Content, So much flirting, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: “Lord Rouart has opened his summer villa to a few select guests,” Ancel said, raising his eyebrow suggestively. “They say there’s good hunting in the forest, and beautiful riding trails. The grounds are said to be quite lovely as well. Perhaps you’ll join us?”Berenger hesitated even as he practically felt Parsins scowling behind him.“Just for a week or two?” Ancel asked with a pout. “It would be such a shame if our paths never crossed again.”
Relationships: Ancel/Berenger (Captive Prince)
Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1455904
Comments: 48
Kudos: 164





	A Pleasant Diversion

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to [Salt_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salt_Queen/) for betaing!

* * *

The cool night air on the patio was a relief after the bustle of the party inside. Berenger leaned against the railing, closing his eyes as he breathed in the fresh air and the blissful silence while he waited for Parsins to bring the carriage around.

If it were up to him, he’d give all such events a pass. Alas, his status did not permit it. He had to show his face sometimes, if only to remind the other scheming aristocrats that he was still their liege-lord.

He winced when he heard the door opening and schooled his features into a neutral expression as he listened to the approaching footsteps, resolved to ignore their owner. No doubt some merchant or minor nobleman come to try and win his favor, or try to wheedle out a trade deal, or an extension on their tax payments, or-

“Do you have a light?” a lilting voice asked.

Berenger sighed inwardly, annoyed. He’d already put on his riding gloves and wasn’t about to take them off to accommodate some boorish dandy who couldn’t be bothered to carry their own lighter. He’d meant to say as much, turning. 

“I-” he started and was immediately drawn up short by a vision of a man dressed in a fine green satin jacket. Even in the moonlight his hair was red as flames, and his plump lips were pursed in a smirk that wouldn’t look out of place on a siren, luring sailors to their deaths. He was certainly as beautiful as one, and probably no less dangerous.

He was holding a cigarette between his pale elegant fingers.

“-certainly,” Berenger finished, pulling off one glove before slipping his hand into his pocket to retrieve his lighter. He lit it and cupped the flame with his free hand, offering it to the young man and watching with bated breath the way his dark eyelashes fluttered when he leaned in.

“Thank you,” the stranger said with a faint smile. “Would you care for one?” He offered a silver cigarette case and Berenger shook his head before forcing himself to drag his gaze away from the man’s lips, wrapped sinfully around the cigarette. He put his glove back on as the stranger took a deep drag.

“You don’t like parties?” the young man asked. He turned to look out into the garden, the moonlight catching on his emerald earrings. Nobles rarely wore such lavish jewelry, and the lower classes couldn’t afford it. Berenger knew instinctively what the young man was. A high end rent boy, no doubt on retainer for one of the rich widows floating around back in the hall.

He was the prettiest Berenger had ever seen; generally he’d found the widows preferred a more masculine sort. The young man was certainly the most well spoken, even though Berenger could detect the hint of a lower-class accent in his speech.

“Not as such,” Berenger said, turning to look into the garden as well. “And you?”

“I find it all quite exhilarating,” the youth said. “The food and drink, the lavish surroundings, the entertainments.”

“Oh yes,” Berenger said with a wry smile. “And the _company,_ I’m sure.”

The youth laughed, taking a drag off his cigarette and blowing out a thin stream of smoke that dissipated slowly into the night air. “In truth,” he started, leaning closer and lowering his voice, “I find the _company_ a bit tedious.”

“Do you really,” Berenger said, amused. “And that’s why you’re out here. Escaping.”

“Perhaps,” the young man said with an enigmatic smile.

They were standing quite close- close enough to invite scandalous rumors. Berenger found himself not caring overmuch. As a dedicated bachelor he was quite used to rumors, and this was a far more pleasant situation to spark them than most he’d been involved in.

“Is it working?” Berenger asked.

The stranger laughed, shifting so their shoulders nearly, almost, brushed together. “So far I’ve found the company out here to be far preferable to what I left behind,” he said, holding Berenger’s gaze as he flicked his cigarette butt into a rose bush below.

“The grounds keeper won’t be well pleased to find that come morning,” Berenger murmured, smiling despite himself.

“I don’t imagine so,” the young man said with a wicked grin. “But I think I’ll get away with it this time. Unless you intend to tattle on me?”

“Heavens forbid,” Berenger said, utterly enchanted even though he knew he shouldn’t be. “Even if I wished to betray you so terribly- I don’t even know your name.”

“Maybe we should keep it that way,” the man teased. “A guarantee that my crime will remain undiscovered.”

“Ancel!” someone cried out and the stranger- Ancel- let out a put upon sigh.

“Alas,” he murmured. “The jig is up. And so terribly soon.”

“I’d been wondering where you’d- you’d-” an older portly man said, coming closer and setting his hand low on Ancel’s back. His eyes fell on Berenger and his speech came to an abrupt stuttering stop. “Lord Berenger!”

Berenger regarded the stranger cooly. He was some third rate horse merchant, not one that Berenger was well acquainted with. Luis? Leon?

“No!” Ancel said with a gasp, widening his eyes in a decent approximation of surprise. “Not _the_ Lord Berenger!”

“The very same,” Berenger said, tightening his lips so he wouldn’t smile. He was certain now that Ancel had known exactly who he was from the start. This was some sort of ambush, and Ancel its lovely architect.

“What an honor to make your acquaintance,” Ancel said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “And what a fortuitous coincidence.”

“I’m sure,” Berenger said.

“Why, my cousin Louans here has been been talking about you non stop!” Ancel continued.

 _Cousin,_ Berenger thought, barely containing a snort. It seemed Ancel was an entirely different sort of rent boy than what Berenger had initially taken him for. It wasn’t an uncommon arrangement between men of certain inclinations. The faint veneer of familial relation served as a way to justify why a gentleman might suddenly acquire an attractive _housemate._

Still, it didn’t make sense for someone of Ancel’s caliber to waste his time on a man like Louans. Ancel was clearly expensive, and Louans was just a merchant.

Berenger found himself looking at Louans with fresh appreciation. Maybe the quality of his goods had gone up and his business was thriving...?

“Lord Berenger,” Louans said. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about a lucrative investment-”

Ancel laughed brightly, cutting the older man off. “Oh, cousin,” he said sharply. “Surely you don’t mean to bore Lord Berenger with _business_ matters. This is a party, after all.” He smiled and leaned in to set his hand on Berenger’s arm, just above the elbow. When next he spoke his voice was low, seductive. “Forgive my cousin,” he murmured. “He tends to get ahead of himself.”

Ancel was _flirting_ with him, and right in front of Louans. Berenger revised his opinion of the merchant once more. However he’d lucked into an arrangement with Ancel, it wasn’t because he was suddenly smarter or richer than he’d been before.

“Lord Berenger,” came Parsins’ pinched voice. “Your carriage is ready.”

“Thank you,” Berenger said, not taking his eyes off Ancel, still watching him. Louans made a small badly-concealed noise of dismay. Ancel smirked.

“What a terrible shame,” he said, lowering his eyes demurely. “And we were just getting to know one another. Perhaps we can continue this conversation at a later time?”

“Perhaps,” Berenger said, taking a step back. Ancel’s hand slipped from his arm and he found himself already missing the heat of him. But he knew better than to pine for what he could never have. “Farewell,” he said before turning to follow Parsins away.

“Lord Berenger,” Ancel called after him.

Berenger couldn’t resist the call, stopping and turning back.

“Have you given thought to where you’ll be summering?”

It was a trap of some sort, a trick. He didn’t care, so long as Ancel gave him an excuse to see him again.

“I have not,” Berenger lied. He’d intended to to spend the summer working, as he always did, splitting his time between Arles and Varenne.

“Lord Rouart has opened his summer villa to a few select guests,” Ancel said, raising his eyebrow suggestively. “They say there’s good hunting in the forest, and beautiful riding trails. The grounds are said to be quite lovely as well. Perhaps you’ll join us?”

Berenger hesitated even as he practically felt Parsins scowling behind him.

“Just for a week or two?” Ancel asked with a pout. “It would be such a shame if our paths never crossed again.”

“Has Rouart authorised you to hand out invitations on his behalf?” Berenger asked.

Ancel laughed. “Formalities,” he said with a dismissive flick of his fingers. “Please. Won’t you consider it?”

Berenger smiled wryly. “I’ll consider it,” he said at last. “Farewell, Ancel.” He nodded politely and made his leave.

When he was alone in the carriage he managed a quiet chuckle. What had he been thinking? Letting some enchanting rent boy wrap him around his finger? It wasn’t just that he was beautiful, it was _everything._ Even the fact that he belonged to someone else made him all the more enticing. Berenger let himself entertain the fantasy of stealing him away, seducing him, being seduced. He could spirit Ancel away to Varenne and lay him out over dark satin sheets, drape him in jewels-

He let out a deep breath and let the notion go, looking out the window at the dark countryside passing by. It was foolishness. Getting involved in whatever Ancel’s scheme was would be utter foolishness.

It wasn’t until he was back in his study having just finished packing his pipe that he realized Ancel had masterfully outmaneuvered him. He reached into his pocket for his lighter and instead drew out a single emerald earring.

He held it up, watching the way the lamplight played over the jewels. It was nothing to Ancel’s wicked smile, his striking red hair, his hand, warm on Berenger’s arm. The emerald wasn’t nearly as lovely as Ancel’s eyes.

But it was expensive, and now Berenger had no choice but to return it.

* * *

The letter arrived a week later. Parsins was practically vibrating with disapproval as he handed over the creamy envelope stamped with Lord Rouart’s seal.

Berenger opened it to find an elegant invitation to Rouart’s summer villa in Toutaine. Ancel’s doing, no doubt. Berenger was not well acquainted with Rouart, though he knew the sorts of debauchery that routinely took place during his gatherings. Or at least he’d heard the rumors. He expected there might be a lot of men with _cousins_ at his villa.

“You’re not thinking of going,” Parsins said as Berenger retrieved a piece of parchment to pen his reply. “Rouart is a cad, a scoundrel, and that- that- _boy_ is nothing but trouble-”

“Parsins,” Berenger interrupted, his voice quiet and amused.

“Your _reputation-”_ Parsins tried again.

“Is ironclad to the people who matter,” Berenger said reasonably. “And in tatters for everyone else, simply by virtue of my still being a bachelor at thirty. A few days at Rouart’s villa won’t make a difference.”

Parsins crossed his arms over his chest, grimacing. “Very good, my lord. I’ll oversee the packing of your things.”

“Thank you,” Berenger said before dismissing him.

He returned to work and certainly did not count down the days until he would depart for Rouart’s villa, a fortnight hence. Seeing Ancel again would of course be a pleasant diversion, but Berenger intended to stay only as long was polite- a day or maybe two at most- return Ancel’s earring and leave.

When the day finally came Berenger frowned as he watched Parsins directing the servants loading his luggage into the carriage. There were giant trunks, _three_ of them, and Berenger raised an eyebrow at his stalwart retainer.

“Have you packed my entire wardrobe?” he asked. “It’s only two or three days.”

Parsins set his hands on his hips, glaring sternly. “So you say now. May I remind you, just a week ago you said two. The week before- one.”

Berenger looked away, trying to will down a flush. Parsins was more of a father figure than his own father had been, and being reprimanded by him always made him feel like a boy.

“You may think me blind,” Parsins continued, his words clipped with annoyance. “But I remember well the _incident_ with the brunette three years ago-”

“Incident,” Berenger echoed, flushing harder. “The boy needed a job and I simply-”

“Spent a month running around on his behalf,” Parsins interrupted, “until you found him that apprenticeship with the tailor in Marisse-”

“Well-”

“That was only supposed to take a day or two as well, if you recall.”

“I-”

“And then there was the blonde from Ladehors,” Parsins continued. “And of course, the _stableboy,_ with the-”

“Please,” Berenger said, looking up to the heavens and silently pleading for strength. The stableboy had had hair as black as a raven’s wing and their affair had been rather short lived, so it was a low blow for Parsins to harp on about it now. “I was seventeen,” he countered. “It’s rather unfair for you to hold it against me now that I’m grown.”

One of the servants saddling the horses stifled a chuckle behind her hand.

“God only knows what you’ll do now that you’ve been confronted with a redhead!” Parsins continued, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I suppose I’m to be the unwitting witness to the whole sordid drama, though I can only hope you’ll spare me any further heart palpitations and manage a bit of self-control-”

“Thank you for the warning,” Berenger managed to choke out, striding over to his favorite horse, a blue roan he’d cheekily named Chestnut when his father had gifted her to him. “It’s a beautiful day, so I think I’ll ride ahead,” he said, trying not to seem like he was running away. “I’ll meet you at the inn in Papillose.”

He mounted and urged Chestnut into an easy canter without waiting for a response from Parsins or any of the rest of his retinue. Within minutes he was riding past the front gates of his manor and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

If nothing else, it _was_ a particularly lovely day. Spring was just inching into summer, the weather clear and pleasantly warm without the stifling heat that would come in a month’s time.

Chestnut was restless so he urged her into a gallop, both of them exhilarated as the air whistled past them. It felt good to ride, to be alone, to look forward to doing something a little reckless for once. He’d been working himself to the bone for the past six years, ever since he’d lost his father in the war and inherited Varenne. He didn’t really mind the work- not when his province was thriving and he’d earned the respect of King Auguste and Prince Laurent, not when he’d be appointed a seat on the Council once Herode retired at summer’s end. This might be his last chance to do something just for himself in a good long while.

He galloped until Chestnut tired, and then he slowed her to a walk and dismounted to walk beside her, holding her reins. Not an hour later he came across a merchant caravan, stopped on the side of the road while trying to repair a broken wagon. He stopped too, letting Chestnut graze while he helped them.

That was how Parsins and the rest of his retinue found him a few hours later- down to his shirtsleeves and knee deep in mud.

“Lord Berenger,” Parsins said with a sigh and the merchants all stiffened in alarm as they finally figured out the identity of the lone traveler who had stopped to help them.

With the assistance of Berenger’s guards they got the wagon fixed and back on the road, and all of them managed to reach Papillose before nightfall.

The following day was more of the same, with Berenger leaving alone on horseback while Parsins and the carriage struggled to catch up. There was no broken caravan to slow down his progress so he stopped for a while in a meadow, napping away an hour or two in the sunshine.

He rode the third day, as well. But once he was close to Rouart’s villa he stopped at a stream to wash his face and hands, waiting for Parsins to catch up so he could change out of his simple riding leathers into something more becoming of his station. He rode in the carriage the rest of the way, his hand in his pocket, cradling Ancel's earring.

He half expected Ancel to be the one to greet him, but it was Rouart and his servants waiting in the entrance hall.

“Berenger,” Rouart said with a grin, shaking his hand vigorously. “I dare say I never quite expected you to join us, even after I got your letter! I'll have your things brought to your room. We're taking wine and playing cards in the parlor, would you care to join us?”

 _Wine._ And it wasn’t even evening. Berenger managed to keep the disapproval off his face, though Parsins didn’t bother. “Certainly,” he said, following Rouart to the parlor.

It was a strange crowd that greeted him there- Louans sitting flushed and heavy lidded on a chaise, cradling a glass of wine in hand, Ancel notably absent. There was a young blonde man in an elegant velvet suit and diamond earrings who held out a limp hand for introductions.

“Cyril,” he introduced himself as Berenger bowed over his hand. Rouart’s _cousin._ There was another nobleman there too, Lord Droet, with a cousin of his own- a storm cloud of a youth in gray silk and a lavish sapphire necklace- Savin.

The two Lords and their lovers were engaged in a game of Whist, though Cyril conceded his spot to Berenger in favor of sitting in Rouart’s lap and playing with his hair, periodically whispering into his ear. It made Rouart a rather inattentive partner and they lost the first few rounds quite soundly.

Berenger didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was seeing Ancel. Alas- there was no polite way for one gentleman to ask after another’s prostitute.

Even if there had been, Louans didn’t seem in a particularly chatty mood as he gulped down wine and chatted inanely about horses and his new trade deal with a group of Vaskian merchants. Men, from the sound of it. Likely brigands. Even if his business contacts were legitimate, there was no market for Vaskian mountain ponies in Vere or anywhere other than Vask for that matter.

Berenger bit his tongue, not about to get into a pointless argument with a drunk man. Luckily Louans took his leave before they moved to the dining room for supper, a lavish affair consisting of six courses with wine pairings for each, as well as three types of desserts. They took their after dinner cordials on the patio surrounded by the sound of crickets and night birds, their singing as fine as any music.

The patio was comfortable with sofas and lounge chairs arranged around a low table, the area lit by elaborate glass oil lamps burning scented oils. It was decadent and dreamlike, only growing more so when Ancel stepped out to join them.

He was dressed in tight high-waisted trousers and a white shirt tucked into them, open rakishly at the neck and trailing laces. His hair was loose and shining as it fell past his shoulders in soft waves, even more vibrant than Berenger remembered.

“Did I miss supper?” he asked with a pout that seemed more teasing than petulant.

Rouart laughed and so did his boy, Cyril.

“Lord Berenger,” Ancel said, feigning surprise at seeing him. “How good of you to come. Have you been in long?”

“No,” Berenger said, watching the careful way Ancel angled himself to stand in front of a lamp, the fine fabric of his shirt turning nearly see-through to reveal the elegant lines of his body. His hair, too, caught the light until he seemed to be glowing all over.

“It’s a shame I missed your arrival,” Ancel said, running a hand through his hair, his fingers glittering with gold rings. “I would have come sooner had I known.”

“You’re here now,” Berenger said.

Rouart laughed again, his eyes on Ancel. Everyone’s eyes were on Ancel. “Will you be giving us a show tonight?”

“Perhaps,” Ancel said, moving to take the glass out of Rouart’s hand and sitting in a lounge chair across from him. “Alas, I haven’t brought my fire sticks.”

“Maybe a different type of show, then,” Cyril said, standing from where he’d been draped over Rouart’s side. He padded over to Ancel, settling easily in his lap. Ancel wrapped an arm around his waist and took his chin with a free hand. He was smirking as he tilted Cyril’s face down and brought their lips together.

It took everything in Berenger not to react even as Rouart grinned and licked his lips. Droet’s boy, Savin, scowled and leaned in to whisper something into Droet’s ear, effectively bringing his lover’s attention back to himself.

Cyril moaned and Berenger couldn’t help shifting uncomfortably. “Is this really the place?” he murmured. “Surely a more private-”

“Oh hush,” Rouart said with a laugh. “Let the boys have their fun.”

Ancel pulled away from the kiss to stare Berenger in the eye as he dragged his hand down Cyril’s chest, stomach, lower. He slid his hand between Cyril’s thighs, making the young man moan once more and arch into his touch. Berenger tightened his lips in disapproval. If this little display of Ancel’s was meant for him, he wasn’t having it.

“I think I’ll take some air,” Berenger said cooly before standing and walking out into the gardens surrounding the patio.

The gardens were well kept, the gravel paths tidy as they curved between flower beds and verdant bushes, fruit trees. The further away he got from the lights of the villa the wilder the foliage became until he found himself in a small clearing dominated by a bubbling fountain surrounded by elaborately carved stone benches.

Berenger took a few deep breaths to try and clear the image of Ancel’s smirk from his clouded thoughts. Once his hands had stopped shaking he packed his pipe and drew out a tin of matches.

There were footsteps approaching behind him and Berenger tensed, not turning.

“Let me,” Ancel said, stopping before him and pulling out Berenger’s own lighter, holding it out with a sly smile.

Berenger sighed but let Ancel light the pipe for him, not commenting when Ancel lit a cigarette of his own and slipped the lighter back into his pocket.

“Have I offended your sensibilities?” Ancel asked, still smiling as he tilted his head to the side curiously.

“No,” Berenger said, a bit more curtly than he intended. “If my sensibilities were that delicate, I would never have come to Rouart’s villa in the first place.”

“Hm,” Ancel said, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing out a thin line of smoke. “I take it you don’t like to watch, then.”

“I don’t like artifice,” Berenger bit out, looking past Ancel towards the fountain, the water turned to silver by the moonlight. “I have no interest in watching two men pretend to pleasure each other.”

“Oh,” Ancel said with a quiet chuckle. “I assure you- I wasn’t _pretending_ to like it when Cyril sucked my cock.”

Berenger couldn’t help picturing it for a moment before he forced himself to stop and focus only on his pipe, the fountain, the crickets singing in the underbrush. He tried to focus on anything other than the image of Cyril, moving to kneel between Ancel’s spread thighs and carefully undoing the buttons of his trousers before-

“Although I suppose you didn’t stay for that,” Ancel said innocently before perching on the edge of the fountain and stretching out his long legs. He closed his eyes as he took another drag off his cigarette, his eyelashes a dark smear over his porcelain skin. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a small distinctive bruise low on the side of his throat. A mark from Cyril’s lips, perhaps. Or maybe a mark from someone else.

“Is something the matter?” Ancel asked, and Berenger knew he’d been caught looking.

He looked away instead of answering and Ancel laughed easily, running his free hand through his hair. “So we’ve covered what you don’t like,” he said. “What _do_ you like?”

Berenger chanced a glance at him and saw that Ancel was looking up at him, expectant and sly.

“Why don’t you tell me,” Berenger challenged instead of playing into his hand.

Ancel’s eyes widened a fraction before he looked down, his eyelashes fluttering seductively. “Riding,” he started, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Hunting. Poetry.” He paused, looking up as he stubbed his cigarette out on the edge of the fountain. “Stableboys.”

Berenger exhaled a sigh, shaky with surprised laughter. “You’ve been talking to Parsins.”

Ancel raised and lowered a shoulder noncommittally. “Don’t be too harsh with him. I’m good at reading between the lines.”

Berenger couldn’t help smiling as he knocked the ash out of his pipe.

“He seems particularly wary of me,” Ancel continued. “Perhaps you had a torrid affair with a redhead that’s left him scarred for life.”

“Not as of yet,” Berenger said. “The stableboys were all brunette.”

Ancel laughed, a pretty lilting sound finer than music. Once he calmed he stood and took a step closer. Berenger forced himself to hold his ground, wondering what Ancel would do next. Would the flirtation continue? Would he try to step even closer, maybe set his hand on Berenger’s arm once more, bat his eyelashes, lean in.

“What are your plans for tomorrow, my lord?” Ancel asked, close enough that Berenger felt Ancel’s breath ghosting over his lips.

“I plan to leave in the evening,” Berenger said. He’d expected some expression of put-upon dismay but Ancel’s easy smile didn’t waver. “So whatever scheme it is you have in mind for me- you may as well tell me now.”

“Scheme? What makes you think I have a scheme?” Ancel asked flippantly, stepping away. “I’m afraid it’s grown rather late. I’d better retire.”

“I see,” Berenger said. He certainly wasn’t disappointed that Ancel appeared to be finished seducing him for the evening. “Good night, Ancel.”

“Sleep well, my lord,” Ancel said, tossing his hair over his shoulder before turning to go.

* * *

The rooms Rouart had provided were overly lavish, though Berenger found himself not minding the buttery-smooth cotton sheets or the lace curtains that let in the perfect amount of morning sun. There was breakfast set out for him already in his parlor when he emerged from the bedroom, no doubt Parsins’ doing.

This close to dawn, the villa was silent but for the soft pitter-patter of servants going about their daily tasks. Berenger enjoyed the quiet solitude as he perused Rouart’s library- more full of frivolous poetry and risque novels than Berenger’s own stolid collection. Rouart had a particularly rare edition of Isagoras, illuminated with delicate gilded wood cuts that Berenger found himself perusing with great interest for the better part of the morning.

He was pulled away at midday by the patter of feet and faint laughter in the corridor, looking up in time to see Ancel walking into the library. His face was bright with a smile, his hair pulled back into a simple braid. He wore a white linen tunic, unlaced at the neck, and leather-paneled riding trousers. His riding boots were made of fine leather, the heels clicking sharply with each step.

“Lord Berenger,” he said with a delighted smile, coming over and boldly taking Berenger’s arm. “It’s past time for lunch. Perhaps you’d care for a picnic?”

“A picnic?” Berenger asked, amused. Nevertheless, he let Ancel tug him away, out of the room and towards the stables.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Ancel said. “It’s a shame to waste it indoors, wouldn’t you say?”

“Quite,” Berenger agreed, swept up in his enthusiasm. There was no sign of anyone in the halls but servants, certainly no sign of Louans. Berenger wondered briefly about the man’s whereabouts and found he didn’t particularly care.

In the stables they were greeted by Cyril and Savin, both dressed for riding rather than in the lavish silks and jewels of the previous night. Cyril was smiling easily while Savin just looked bored in the way of indolent youths, blinking slowly as he ran his gaze over Berenger and Ancel.

“I didn’t realize this was a group outing,” Berenger said while a pair of stable boys readied four horses.

“It would be scandalous for the two of us to go out alone,” Ancel said, batting his eyelashes innocently while smirking in a decidedly sly way.

Berenger considered the three lovely men who were apparently spiriting him away for a picnic. Was the plan for them to get him into some sort of compromising position, to be stumbled upon by Rouart or his men?

“Won’t your cousins worry if you three disappear?” Berenger asked mildly as one of the stableboys brought over Chestnut, handing over her reins.

“They overindulged quite heavily last night,” Cyril said with a grin. “They’ll be useless to us for hours yet.”

“I see,” Berenger said, stroking Chestnut’s neck consideringly. It wasn’t too late to make his excuses and send the three trouble makers off on their own, and yet…

“Come,” Ancel said, taking the reins of his own horse- a pretty roan. She was a fine enough horse, though Berenger’s trained eye could see that she had a nervous disposition. She’d be no use in a hunt, or worse- war, but she’d do for a pleasure ride through well-manicured grounds. “I noticed you carry a pistol,” Ancel continued. “If you don’t come, who will protect us?”

“Protect you from what?” Berenger asked, amused. “Your angry cousins, once they see you’ve run off with me?”

Savin snorted out something that wasn’t quite a laugh, mounting a striking midnight black mare. “A bit of jealously would do Droet good. He’s been skimping on his gifts in recent weeks.”

Cyril and Ancel laughed, though Berenger noticed Ancel’s laugh was a bit forced. It hadn’t escaped Berenger’s notice that Ancel’s jewels were nowhere near the quality of what the other two had. It was only natural- Cyril and Savin were contracted to Lords and Ancel was with a simple merchant. This wasn’t the first sign that Ancel was unhappy with his current situation and Berenger wondered if there was something more to it. It certainly wasn’t a love match. The very thought was ridiculous.

Berenger mounted Chestnut without further protest, inclining his head for Ancel to lead the way.

The four of them left the stables at an easy trot, taking a well-travelled track towards the forest lining Rouart’s property. The woods were far from the wilds of Varenne- instead of thick dark pines that crowded close together and fought for every scrap of sun and soil, these were light birches, their trunks thin and silvery and their foliage bursting with exuberant spring growth. The air smelled sweet with wildflowers and fresh grass, the sun a pleasant but not overbearing warmth.

Cyril chattered on easily about nothing in particular, regaling his companions with tales of Rouart’s lavish summer parties and the scandalous rumors he’d heard from his contacts throughout Vere. He seemed to know the business of all the most prominent Lords and Ladies and Ancel hung onto his every word while Savin looked off into the distance, stifling the occasional yawn.

Ancel rode prettily, though not with the easy confidence of the other two. Berenger could see where he gripped his reins a bit too tightly, held his back a bit too tense and his thighs too closely pressed to his horse’s sides. It only made her move more nervously over the forest path, picking her way between roots and branches as though she were afraid of tripping.

They’d been traveling less than half an hour before reaching the bank of a clear pond, where Cyril stopped his horse with a laugh and jumped from the saddle, practically throwing his clothes off before running into the water with a great splash.

Savin dismounted at a more sedate pace. Nevertheless, he moved with a burst of heretofore unseen enthusiasm as he disrobed and went into the water too. Berenger averted his eyes with a faint blush, climbing from the saddle and taking care to stroke Chestnut’s face as she peered curiously towards the water.

“Will you also go swimming while I remain here in the position of guard dog on the shore?” Berenger asked Ancel, who was setting out a blanket and a picnic basket in the shade of a tree.

“I’m not one for swimming,” Ancel with a sniff, laying himself out on the blanket in a deceptively casual pose that displayed his long legs to full advantage and strained the fabric of his shirt, pulling it open wider at the chest. “The damp makes my hair all frizzy. I just like drinking wine in the sunshine.”

“I see,” Berenger said, joining him on the blanket and dutifully opening the wine to pour two glasses. It was a fine vintage, sweet and white. The perfect summer blend.

There was an assortment of plain fair in the basket as well- meats and cheeses, bread. It wasn’t what Ancel preferred, judging by the way he ignored most of it in favor of the wine.

“Is the picnic not to your taste?” Berenger asked.

“I prefer sweets,” Ancel said with a smile.

There was a small bowl of strawberries in the basket and Berenger reached in to grasp one by the stem, offering it over. Ancel’s smile grew wider as he leaned in and took a bite, a drop of ruby red juice trailing down his chin. He wiped it away with his thumb before sucking the digit into his mouth with a faint hum of pleasure.

Berenger looked away, blushing, and took another sip of wine.

Cyril and Savin were splashing in the water, both appearing to enjoy themselves even though Savin’s grin was tinged with a fair bit of viciousness.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen Savin smiling,” Berenger observed.

“He’s been in a mood of late,” Ancel said, reaching for another strawberry. “His contract with Droet is almost up. He’s worried Droet won’t renew it.”

“And are you?” Berenger asked. “Worried.”

A complicated expression flitted over Ancel’s face, some mix of a smile and a grimace that made it clear he was annoyed with the question, or maybe the topic. It was gone in a flash, and when Ancel answered he was smiling once more.

“No. Louans doesn’t seem inclined to let me go any time soon.”

“Of course,” Berenger said. “You’re quite the catch.”

“I know,” Ancel said, tossing his hair. He seemed to know just how to angle his head to catch the sunlight and for a moment he was haloed in golden light.

“How did he catch you, I wonder,” Berenger mused.

“Quite literally,” Ancel said. “Do you really want to talk about _Louans?”_

“Why, does the topic upset you?”

“Worse,” Ancel said, rolling his eyes. “It bores me. I’d much rather talk about your stableboys.”

“Certainly,” Berenger said, looking towards the lake to hide his smile. “Varenne boasts a rather robust horse breeding program and a veritable army of stableboys. Would you care to hear about their training? Their duties? Perhaps you’d be interested in the hiring process-”

Ancel groaned and drained his wine before laying out on the blanket, his arms tucked under his head as a makeshift pillow. “Please no. Maybe you’d like to talk about poetry then.”

“Oh?” Berenger asked. “Do you enjoy poetry?”

“I enjoy it better than talk of horses,” Ancel said, closing his eyes.

“I see,” Berenger said, pausing a moment to listen to the birds singing in the trees. A peal of boyish laughter rolled through the clearing, followed by a rather vehement splash. 

_“You’re just like the sweet apple reddening at the highest branch,”_ Berenger started in Akielon, _“and missed by the apple pickers. No, they did not miss you! They just couldn’t reach so high.”_

Ancel smirked, eyes still closed. _“Screwing is sweet,”_ he countered, his own Akielon heavily accented and oddly charming for it. _“Who claims otherwise? But when it costs money, it is bitterer than hellebore.”_

Berenger paused, his mouth suddenly dry. “Your Akielon is quite good,” he managed after a moment.

“That means a lot coming from you,” Ancel said, looking up. “Would you care to hear another?”

“Perhaps we’d best be getting back,” Berenger said, turning to where Cyril and Savin had left the lake and were drying themselves off.

Ancel squinted up at the sky to get the position of the sun before sitting up with a put-upon sigh. Berenger helped pack up their things and before long the four of them were mounted once more as they headed back towards the villa.

Berenger couldn’t help feeling slightly off balance during the ride, lost in the vision of Ancel’s hair swaying in the wind before him. As far as he could tell the picnic had just been a picnic, though he felt like he’d seen a hint of truth behind Ancel’s demeanor that let him unsettled. 

Ancel, for all his charms and wily quirks, was contracted to Louans and displeased with that fact. How that situation had come about and why it continued remained a mystery that tugged at Berenger’s mind like an insistent pet might whine for a treat.

He wasn’t sure what it was exactly that drew him out of his thoughts- a rustle, a flash of scales in the sunlight.

There was a snake on the path before them and Ancel’s horse whinnied in panic, rearing up on her hind legs. Ancel yelped, the reins slipping uselessly through his fingers as he fell backwards.

Berenger was moving before he made the decision to, spurring Chestnut forward and leaning over. He wrapped an arm around Ancel’s waist, taking hold of him as his horse quite literally bolted out from under him. In the space of a heartbeat Berenger tightened his hold and pulled Ancel over to sit side-saddle before him while Ancel gasped and clutched at him, his breath coming out in shuddering half-sobs.

Letting go of the reins in favor of guiding Chestnut with his knees, Berenger wrapped his other arm around Ancel to stroke his back in what he hoped was a soothing motion.

“F-fuck,” Ancel stuttered out, his voice muffled where his face was pressed to Berenger’s shoulder.

“You’re alright,” Berenger said, watching as Ancel’s horse disappeared into the forest, thankfully heading back towards the villa where Rouart’s stableboys would hopefully round her up and make sure she wasn’t hurt.

“What happened?” Cyril asked as he and Savin came to a stop and looked back.

“There was a snake,” Berenger said as they stared. “In the path. It’s gone now.”

Ancel was still trembling so Berenger held him a little closer. Ancel’s hair smelled like flowers. If it weren’t for his clear distress and the impossible coincidence of it, Berenger might have thought he’d planned this somehow as a play at seduction.

“Everything’s fine,” he said to Cyril and Savin and the two turned away with small shrugs before continuing onwards. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, significantly more gently, as he turned to Ancel.

“Yes,” Ancel said shakily. “But I- I think-”

“Yes?”

“I think I’d like to… walk, a moment.”

“Of course,” Berenger said, pulling Chestnut to a stop. He dismounted first and offered his hand to Ancel who took it without protest, gripping a little too tightly as Berenger helped him down.

Once he was on the ground, Ancel fumbled through his pockets for his cigarettes and Berenger’s lighter. His hands were shaking too hard to get it started so Berenger took it from him, lighting it himself and offering the flame up, his free hand cupped around it as Ancel leaned in.

After the first deep drag he seemed steadier and even managed a small smile when Berenger slipped the lighter back into Ancel’s pocket.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Berenger asked as Chestnut tossed her head with a small huff, displeased at the smell of the smoke. Berenger stroked her neck absently, watching as Ancel got himself back under control.

“A little shaken,” Ancel said. “That was… quite skillfully done. Thank you.”

“Anyone can brandish a pistol,” Berenger said. “But a guard dog must have more skills than that, surely.”

Ancel laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing. “What other skills do you have, my lord?” he asked in his familiar teasing tone.

“I have moderate skill with a sword,” Berenger said as they started walking back. He resisted the urge to set his hand on Ancel’s lower back, tightening his hold on Chestnut’s reins instead. He couldn’t quite stop himself from offering his other arm. Ancel took it, his fingers warm against his inner elbow even through the fabric of his jacket. “And of course, I’ve a fine ear for poetry. I’m afraid in all other ways I’m quite useless.”

Ancel laughed again, once more completely at ease. “Poetry is more useful for a lover than a guard dog,” he countered.

“Terrible poetry can act as a fine deterrent for unwanted company.”

“I don’t imagine you know any terrible poetry,” Ancel said.

 _“I swear it’s difficult to tell by sniffing,”_ Berenger started, looking out at where Cyril and Savin were riding ahead of them. _“Which is Aemilius’ mouth and which is his tail. Neither is cleaner or dirtier than the other—or rather his arsehole’s the cleaner and better of the two—it hasn’t any teeth.”_

Ancel snorted out a laugh while Berenger turned his head away to hide his grin.

“I didn’t think you swore!” Ancel said with put-upon shock, his fingers tightening minutely over Berenger’s arm.

“I don’t,” Berenger said. “It doesn’t count when it’s in Akielon.”

Ancel laughed once more, leaning close. The rest of the walk was thankfully uneventful, and spent trading dirty poems while Chestnut walked, unimpressed, beside them.

It took longer to walk back than it had taken to ride, and by the time they returned it was well into the afternoon. Louans and Droet were waiting at the stables, Droet looking bored while Louans seemed a bit red-faced.

“Ancel!” Louans cried out, his face contorted with anger for a moment before he noticed Berenger and tried to smooth his expression into something more pleasant. “Lord Berenger,” he said with a small nod, his beady eyes darting between the two of them.

“I was so… _worried,”_ Louans said, his voice strained. “When Kestrel came back without you I thought the worst.”

“Well,” Ancel said, his expression souring. “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Your horse startled at the sight of a snake,” Berenger said coldly. “A sign of poor training. I’d never lend anyone a mount that wasn’t safe to ride.”

Louans went ashen before blushing bright red with embarrassment. “My horses are- are excellently trained,” he sputtered. “You can’t blame the horse when the rider-”

“Ancel,” Berenger said sharply, turning to the young man still holding his arm. “Should you wish to ride again, please feel free to take one of the horses from my retinue.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Ancel said, smiling slyly.

“I insist,” Berenger said, curious to see how much redder Louans could grow before he burst. “My horses are trained to the highest standard. I can assure you they wouldn’t startle at a snake, nor anything else.”

“But my lord,” Ancel said, stepping away and inclining his head. “You said you’d be leaving tonight.”

“Tonight?” Droet asked as he helped Savin down from his saddle. “Surely not. We had such an evening planned. The cook is preparing an Akielon feast, and Ancel promised to do his fire dance for us. It would be such a shame for you to miss it.”

“I see,” Berenger said, wondering what exactly a fire dance entailed. “Of course I’d hate to miss your performance.”

Ancel smirked, raising an eyebrow before turning away. “Cousin,” he said, reaching for Louans. “I’ve had such a scare, perhaps you could comfort me.”

“Of course,” Louans muttered, shooting Berenger another uncertain glance before walking away. Droet left too, his hand firmly on Savin’s lower back, and Berenger was left only with Cyril, stroking his fingers through his horse’s mane.

A stableboy came forward to take Cyril’s horse and he gave Berenger a jaunty wave before leaving him to take care of Chestnut alone.

* * *

Parsins was scowling as he helped Berenger into his dinner jacket later that evening, tightening the laces on his sleeves vehemently before moving on to straighten his cravat and pin it with a cameo brooch bearing the likeness of the first Lord of Varenne. As far as warnings went, this was as subtle as Parsins ever got.

Thankfully he refrained from outright reproach and Berenger left the room miraculously unscolded.

He entered the dining hall to see the room had been transformed since the last time he’d seen it. The patio doors stood open, letting in the cool night air and the smell of lilacs. The walls were hung with jewel-toned linens that swayed in the breeze, their bright colors needing no further ornamentation. Rather than oil lamps the room was lit with candelabras lined against the walls, and the dining table was low and surrounded by cushions in the Akielon style.

The others were already there, save for Ancel, and Berenger found himself seated with Droet on one side and Louans on the other. It was just as well, Rouart and Cyril seemed half a heartbeat away from fornicating on the table so Berenger doubted either of them would be any sort of good company.

Louans tried to make conversation as Rouart’s servants brought out the first courses- yoghurt flavored with cucumber and garlic, minced aubergine, fava and olives and an array of cheeses all accompanied by flat Akielon bread. Berenger ate with his fingers as he nodded along to Louans’ clumsy attempts at presenting a trade deal for Vaskian mountain ponies, extolling their virtues as if Berenger didn’t already know.

It was a relief when a group of musicians entered the hall accompanied by dancers dressed like Akielon slave boys. There was another round of food and drinks while they performed. Louans, disgruntled at Berenger’s lack of interest, began to drink more heavily.

Droet called over a servant with a few dark bottles and crystal glasses on a gilded tray. “Have you ever tried griva, Berenger?” he asked. Savin grimaced and took a long drink of wine.

“I haven’t the pleasure,” Berenger said, watching as Droet poured out different measures of liquid from various bottles into two glasses.

“It’s an Akielon liquor,” Droet said. “Decidedly foul on its own, but mixed with a selection of fresh fruit juices, it becomes quite pleasant.”

Berenger took the offered cup, sniffing it cautiously. There was a faint smell of alcohol covered by the sweetness of the juice. Droet raised his glass in a toast before taking a drink. After another moment of doubt, Berenger followed suit.

It was a bit sweeter than he liked but pleasant enough regardless. He took another drink as the next few courses were brought out. There were more performances, dances followed by a recitation of traditional Akielon poetry. As the evening grew later servants came to put out some of the candles, causing shadows to dance over the walls and the gently swaying wall hangings.

The music shifted towards something more lively and a drummer joined the other musicians. The main doors opened to reveal Ancel, wearing diaphanous green silks and gold jewelry that glittered as he stepped forward. He swept his gaze through the hall, pausing briefly when he noticed Berenger watching.

It was only then that Berenger noticed Ancel held a wooden stick in each hand, their ends wrapped in cloth. Within moments the nature of the fire dance became clear- Ancel lit the ends of the sticks and raised them high in the air.

The drumming picked up in tempo as Ancel started to dance, his silks swirling around him and turning him into a creature of air and light, a bird taking flight into the sunset. He twirled the sticks, tossing and catching them easily even as they came within a hairbreadth of his skin, his clothes, his _hair._ All of it delicate and so dangerously flammable. One wrong move and Ancel would be the one on fire, and yet he moved without concern, confidence and sensuality apparent in every line of his body.

Berenger wasn’t sure how long the performance lasted- wasn’t sure if it was eternity or a bare breathless instant. No one else existed in the hall but Ancel as he moved with impossible grace, a spirit of flame and desire.

It ended when the fire snuffed out, its fuel consumed. Ancel stood, breathing hard and triumphant, as the gathered guests managed a smattering of applause. Berenger took a drink as Ancel bowed and dropped his smoking fire sticks to the ground for a servant to tidy away, coming forward to sit at the table. He settled himself next to Louans and consequently- next to Berenger.

“That was masterfully done,” Berenger said, marveling that his voice didn’t seem to be trembling.

“Thank you, my lord,” Ancel said, voice low. He smiled and reached out to take a morsel of food from Louans’ plate. Berenger took a drink.

The longer he looked at Ancel the hotter he felt in his own skin, the more afraid he was of doing something he’d regret- like leaning forward to kiss him and damn Louans and Droet and anyone else watching.

It was perhaps a blessing when Droet caught his attention, asking about some administrative quandary he was having in his own province, some question of taxes that he wanted Berenger’s input on. The dry topic was a shock after the dream of Ancel’s performance and Berenger blinked slowly as he fought to wrap his thoughts around the question of taxes when all he could think about were Ancel’s pale freckled shoulders, or the the way his hard nipples pushed against the silk covering his chest, nearly- but not quite- sheer enough to entirely reveal them.

“Lord Berenger?” Droet repeated, amused.

Berenger took a deep drink to stall, then turned to Droet and forced himself to focus. It grew increasingly difficult as the night wore on. He could practically feel the heat radiating off of Ancel to his right even as he tried to focus on Droet to his left.

The hall seemed to grow dimmer with time, though surely that was just Berenger’s mind playing tricks on him. He felt a bit dizzy as Droet asked questions about court and council, Herode and Guion, the Prince and the King. The questions, for the most part, were innocuous. Those that were unnecessarily pointed, Berenger avoided. Though it was becoming difficult to tell the difference between the two as the night wore on.

Droet poured him more griva.

Berenger raised the glass to his lips only for Ancel to pluck it from his hand with a laugh. “Might I try?” he asked before downing the whole thing in a few gulps. Berenger watched him, the way his elegant throat worked as he swallowed.

“Delicious,” Ancel said, raising an eyebrow as he gazed into Berenger’s eyes. “A bit too strong for my taste.”

When he handed the cup back it was full again. Berenger hadn’t noticed him refilling it. When he took a drink he was surprised to note it contained water.

“It’s grown rather late,” Ancel said, lowering his voice. “I’d better help my cousin retire. Perhaps you’d like to take some air, my lord.” With that he rose, helping Louans to his feet and out of the hall.

Berenger took another drink of water before setting down his cup and wiping his hands on his napkin, clearing his throat. “This has been a fine evening,” he told Rouart. “But I think it’s time for me to go.”

Droet’s expression soured. “It’s early still,” he countered. “Stay for another drink.”

Berenger smiled. “I think not,” he said, getting carefully to his own feet. His head was swimming but through some miracle he managed to walk steadily out of the hall and into the gardens, pausing by the fountain as he closed his eyes and breathed in the cool night air. It was only now that he was standing that he noticed how dreadfully dizzy he was, how hot his face felt.

“Lord Berenger.”

Berenger had been expecting Ancel, but it was Parsins who had come for him.

“Parsins,” he said, turning carefully so he wouldn’t stumble. He blinked slowly as he stared at Parsins’ scowl. “I think Droet was trying to get me drunk.”

“I think he succeeded,” Parsins said, ducking under Berenger’s shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him.

“Oh dear,” Berenger said, letting Parsins lead him back to his room. Now that he was paying attention it was rather obvious. He felt nauseous as Parsins sat him down on his bed and moved to help him with his boots.

Berenger fell back with a groan, closing his eyes and swallowing back the saliva that suddenly filled his mouth, trying to take deep breaths so he wouldn’t vomit.

“How did you know to come get me?” he asked after a while.

“The boy sent a servant for me,” Parsins grumbled. “I was asleep.”

“He’s lovely,” Berenger breathed out, letting Parsins help him back into a sitting position so he could wrestle him out of his dinner jacket.

“He’s trouble,” Parsins said, unpinning Berenger’s cravat and undoing the buttons of his vest. “We really should leave. The sooner the better.”

“Not yet,” Berenger said as Parsins helped him between the sheets, still wearing his shirt and trousers. That nagging feeling of uncertainty was back and Berenger frowned. “There’s something he needs.”

Parsins sighed heavily, puttering about the room as he put out candles and poured a glass of water to bring to Berenger’s bedside. “Of course there is,” he said, pulling the covers up higher over Berenger’s chest.

“I’m going to give it to him,” Berenger insisted. “And then we can leave. Once it’s finished.”

“Of course,” Parsins said with another put-upon sigh. If he said anything else, Berenger didn’t hear it. He was already drifting away towards a dream of fire and apples, just out of reach.

* * *

The hangover the next morning was truly horrific. Thankfully, in a fit of uncharacteristic mercy, Parsins had seen fit to leave a cup of willow bark tea on Berenger’s bedside. Berenger drank it carefully and allowed himself to lay in bed a while before rising and bathing at the basin.

He dressed more simply than usual, foregoing coat and cravat, before venturing out of his rooms.

It was a few hours before noon, too early for anyone save the servants to be awake. The thought of food turned Berenger’s stomach so he went to the library instead, picking out a book and reclining on a chaise by the window before abruptly realizing attempting to read was only making him more dizzy.

He set the book down beside him in favor of looking out the window instead, watching the groundskeeper instruct a few servants on the proper way to prune the lilacs outside. It was a lovely day, though the thought of being out in the sunshine made Berenger sick to his stomach.

He dozed on and off, undisturbed, until sometime past lunch time. The door to the library opened and he looked up to see Ancel walking in with a covered tray. He was wearing a silk shirt with ruffles at the neck, and sinfully tight trousers that seemed to shimmer as he moved, though Berenger couldn’t tell if they were satin of velvet in the dim light of the library.

“I thought I might find you here,” Ancel said with a smile, walking over and setting the tray on a small table beside the chaise. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I would be had you not intervened.”

Ancel smiled and looked down, busying himself with raising the lid of they tray he’d brought. There was a simple midday meal- bread and butter, cheese and meat, fresh water. Ancel buttered a piece of bread before covering the whole thing in a generous serving of strawberry jam, taking a bite as he settled himself on the chaise by Berenger’s feet.

“I might have said something sooner had I realized Droet was plying you with griva,” Ancel said. “I had the misfortune of trying it some years back. Let’s just say I don’t remember the better part of that night. Nor the following morning.”

“Thank you,” Berenger said, curious at the way Ancel blushed. “You saved me making a fool of myself.”

“Think nothing of it,” Ancel said airly, though it was clear he was pleased. “Who’d be around to keep me company if you were as horribly indisposed as everyone else?”

“I’m sorry to hear the others are feeling poorly,” Berenger said. He still wasn’t feeling very hungry but he took a bit of bread in a valiant attempt to settle his roiling stomach.

Ancel scowled. “Louans threw up on my best shirt,” he said, his voice low. “And judging from the racket coming from Rouart’s rooms- he and Cyril had some amorous mishap. I dare say someone fell out of bed.”

Berenger laughed in surprise only to wince as his aching head protested. “It sounds like a fraught night.”

“Very,” Ancel said.

“I wonder what Rouart has planned for tonight,” Berenger said.

“I imagine if everyone is sufficiently recovered, there’ll be more of the same,” Ancel said with a faint grimace.

“That doesn’t please you?” Berenger asked.

“Merriment is all well and good,” Ancel said, “but I find after a while the pointless indulgence can get rather tedious.”

“What would you prefer to be doing instead?”

Ancel shrugged and brushed his hair back from his face, leaning his arm on the back of the chaise. “I can think of a number of pleasant diversions,” he said, his voice low and suggestive.

Before he could list any of them in detail, a servant entered the room with a polite knock.

“Master Ancel,” he said, bowing stiffly. “Master Louans requests your presence.”

Ancel stood with a sigh. “Duty calls,” he muttered. He seemed reluctant, though Berenger wasn’t about to flatter himself that Ancel was regretting leaving. Rather, he probably didn’t particularly wish to see Louans.

“I’m not much in the mood for more drinking tonight,” Ancel said.

“What are you in the mood for?” Berenger asked.

“Poetry,” Ancel said with a laugh. “Perhaps you’ll meet me here after supper?”

Berenger inclined his head in agreement and Ancel’s expression brightened before he turned to go.

* * *

Supper was a quiet affair as everyone seemed to be nursing the remains of a hangover. No one paid any attention to Berenger slipping out afterwards to head back to the library.

The fire in the hearth had been lit and Berenger settled in a cosy arm chair beside it, pretending to read while he waited for Ancel to join him. An hour passed, and then another. He wondered what was keeping Ancel, or if he’d chosen to leave him waiting. He never once considered that Ancel might have forgotten.

When Ancel finally arrived he was barefoot and in a satin robe, his hair falling loose to his shoulders. The fire crackled as he walked closer and settled in Berenger’s lap as though he belonged there. Berenger froze, shocked at the warm weight draped over him, at the feeling of Ancel’s hair brushing his cheek as he turned his head with a hum, reaching to pull the book from Berenger’s suddenly slack fingers.

“Good book?” he asked, stroking his fingertips over the fine typeface.

“Poetry,” Berenger said, not sure how else to proceed as Ancel set the book aside and wrapped an arm around his shoulders to steady himself on his perch. The movement caused his robe to fall open wider, revealing the smooth expanse of his chest. He had freckles there too, speckling his skin like stars speckled the night sky.

The door to the library stood open from when Ancel had come in, not bothering to close it. Anyone could wander by and see them like this but oddly enough Berenger found himself not caring overmuch. The villa was dark and silent, the night seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation.

“Maybe we should save the poetry for another time,” Ancel said.

“Isn’t that what you’re here for?” Berenger asked.

“No,” Ancel whispered, leaning in.

Berenger turned his face away from the kiss, closing his eyes and swallowing hard. “Ancel,” he said, the word coming out pained. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” Ancel asked. “You’re a Lord. You can do as you like.”

“Not quite,” Berenger said with a small smile. “Why am I here, Ancel?”

Ancel blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Berenger paused. “Louans wants a trade deal, Savin wants his contract renewed. Droet, I believe, wants my council seat. And Rouart and Cyril simply want to drink and enjoy each other without being disturbed. But you… I haven’t quite figured out what it is _you_ want.”

“Oh,” Ancel said, raising his hand to stroke the side of Berenger’s face. “I thought I was being quite clear. My apologies.” He smirked, shifting sensually in Berenger’s lap.

“You want to seduce me,” Berenger said. “That much is clear. Why? Do you think it’ll help your master’s cause? I won’t be making a deal with Louans, I can assure you that much.”

At the mention of Louans Ancel’s expression darkened. _“That’s_ what you think I’m after?”

“Isn’t it?”

Ancel scoffed. “I can assure you, I’m far too selfish for that. Did it never occur to you I might want you for my own sake? Do you imagine I _enjoy_ fucking a man old enough to be my grandfather? You’re rich, and handsome, and you want me. It’s really as simple as that.”

“Ah,” Berenger said as everything became a little clearer. “If you hate Louans so much, why maintain your arrangement?”

Ancel wrinkled his nose. “It’s complicated.”

“He’s blackmailing you,” Berenger guessed.

Ancel looked down, proving the guess correct. “There is the small matter of how I stole several of his horses,” he said at last, moving to toy with the buttons of Berenger’s vest. “Louans caught me, and in return for not turning me over to the authorities… well. I’m indebted to him now.”

“You’re a horse thief?” Berenger asked incredulously, barely containing a laugh. “I never would have guessed. I didn’t imagine you had much appreciation for horseflesh.”

“I appreciate that it’s expensive,” Ancel said, “and easy to transport.”

“So you want me to buy out your contract,” Berenger said.

“Yes.”

“Are you so certain I can afford you?”

“Yes,” Ancel said, smiling once more. Perhaps he thought he was on the verge of getting what he wanted. “Your lighter alone is worth a hundred sol. Surely you can afford five thousand.”

Five _thousand._ It wasn’t an insurmountable amount, not by a long shot. But it wasn’t an amount to scoff at either.

“Perhaps,” Berenger said at last. “Alas, I have no need for a _cousin.”_

“I can convince you otherwise,” Ancel insisted.

“Perhaps,” Berenger repeated. “Perhaps not.”

Ancel stood, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “We’ll see.”

“I suppose we will,” Berenger said. “Good night, Ancel.”

“Good night, my lord,” Ancel said, inclining his head and turning to go.

* * *

Berenger didn’t make a habit of traveling with large sums of money, but it wasn’t difficult to send two of his men into town to make a withdrawl from his accounts. By lunch time the following day there was a purse containing five thousand sol sitting in one of his trunks.

Rouart, feeling much recovered after the evening of the fire dance, organized a hunt that was more of an easy jaunt through the woods than anything else. Droet joined them, along with Cyril and Savin- both dressed in hunting outfits that were more stylish than practical. Neither carried a pistol.

Louans declined the invitation to attend and Ancel had made himself scarce all morning. Possibly he was sulking after Berenger’s noncommittal response the previous night. Possibly he’d decided to change tactics, playing hard to get instead of the overt seduction of before.

The day was fine, though warmer than the previous few. Despite Cyril and Savin’s gossiping at the back of their little party and Droet’s relentless attempts to weasel information out of Berenger about the royal court, they managed not to scare away all the prey and Berenger took down a plump quail while Rouart got a brace of rabbits.

They had their spoils for supper, and though Droet and Rouart stayed up drinking in the parlor, Berenger left for his own rooms. He sat a moment at his desk contemplating the money purse before standing to go.

The halls were quiet, though not entirely empty as of yet. He asked a maid for directions and she told him how to get to the rooms where Louans was currently staying. His room was at the end of the corridor and Berenger saw the door was open a crack, pouring light into the hall.

He could hear raised voices from inside the room, but it wasn’t until he drew closer that he could make out the words.

“-said you could do it!” came Louans’ voice.

“I’m trying,” Ancel responded. “He doesn’t want your stupid horses-”

There was a loud slap and Berenger’s blood ran cold then hot with fury. He peered through the crack in the door to see Ancel, cradling his cheek in his hand. He was scowling, his hair mussed and his face red. Louans stood before him, glowering and breathing hard.

“What do you want?” Ancel demanded, voice rising. “I can’t perform miracles. He doesn’t want the horses, so what am I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to be _useful,”_ Louans hissed. “You promised you’d be useful to me when I spared you the headman’s block.”

“I’ve _been_ useful,” Ancel said, his voice cracking. “Look where you are! You’re in a Lord’s villa, drinking his wine and eating his food. Forget Berenger. Maybe Rouart will-”

“Shut up!” Louans said, grabbing Ancel by the hair and yanking him closer while he cried out and shut his eyes in a wince.

Berenger found himself raising one hand to the door while the other twitched over the stiletto he kept hidden up his sleeve, itching to burst in and-

But he had a feeling Ancel wouldn’t thank him for that sort of interference, wouldn’t want him seeing this at all.

“I’m not a fool, you little whore,” Louans hissed, nearly too quiet for Berenger to hear.

“Let _go,”_ Ancel hissed back, shoving Louans hard enough in the chest the man stumbled backwards, a few copper strands of hair still clutched in his meaty fist. Ancel took a few hurried steps away from him until his back was pressed to the wall. “I’ll do it, alright? I- I’ll find a way. Just-”

“See that you do,” Louans said, straightening. “Or I’ll make you regret it.”

 _“Fine,”_ Ancel spit out, turning to leave the room.

Berenger managed to move away from the door and slip into the shadows an instant before Ancel stormed out and down the hall, muttering crude curses under his breath.

Berenger closed his eyes as the door swung closed with a creak, not quite shutting. He took a deep breath. Another. He had to be calm when he spoke to Louans and he couldn’t be calm with the image of the man’s hand in Ancel’s hair, gnarled knuckles straining white as he _yanked-_

He could hear Louans puttering around in the room beyond the door, shuffling papers and moving something that clattered. Berenger took another deep breath and walked inside without knocking.

Louans startled, straightening from where he’d been trying to arrange quills in a jar. He dropped the jar and it rolled off the table, quills falling to the ground.

“Lord Berenger!” Louans said, plastering a smile over his face. “What a pleasure-”

“Quiet,” Berenger said coldly, a wave of fury rising within him at the sight of Louans’ face. He could hear a faint buzzing, like a train whistle approaching from a great distance. His heart was racing but his hands were steady. “I’ve heard more than enough out of you. You are a vile and useless man.”

Louans’s eyes widened in shock. He’d felt quite confident while throwing Ancel around but now he cowered in the face of Berenger’s ire. It was oddly satisfying. Not satisfying enough.

The money purse with the five thousand sol was the furthest thing from Berenger’s mind as he pulled off his gloves and tossed them to the ground between him and Louans. They fell to the carpet with a quiet thump that nevertheless seemed loud in the otherwise silent room.

“Lord Berenger,” Louans said, pausing to swallow nervously. “What-”

“You wish to play at nobility?” Berenger asked. “Here is your chance. Dawn. Pistols or swords- your choice. It’s no matter to me.”

“I-” Louans swallowed again. “Whatever I’ve done to offend you… I apologize. Please.”

“No,” Berenger said. “Dawn.”

He turned and left without another word.

With every step he took, a bit more reason started to return. He turned the corner and paused, leaning against the wall and staring at the ceiling as he contemplated what he’d just done.

Parsins would be furious.

“Well,” Berenger muttered to himself. And then, because there was no one around to hear, _“hell.”_

For lack of anything better to do, he went for a walk in the gardens.

He doubted it would really come down to a duel, Louans was too much of a coward to go through with it. And even if he did, Berenger wasn’t particularly concerned for his chances. Even so- he didn’t enjoy killing, and it would be rude to conduct an illegal duel on Rouart’s property. Though knowing the man, he might find it a delightful entertainment and arrange for servants to set out champagne and finger sandwiches on gilded platters.

Berenger walked until he noticed the familiar smell of smoke, following it until he came across Ancel, sitting on the edge of the fountain and, by the look of the cigarette butts on the ground, on his fourth cigarette.

“Lord Berenger,” he said. His hair was wild as though he’d been running his fingers through it restlessly. There was a faint red mark over his face, roughly in the shape of a hand. Berenger averted his eyes and sat beside him.

“Ancel. I haven’t seen you all day. I trust you are well?”

“Perfectly well,” Ancel said curtly. “Would you care for a cigarette?”

“Thank you, I seem to have forgotten my pipe in my rooms.”

Ancel lit a fresh one for him before plucking it from his lips and handing it over. Berenger reached for it only to have Ancel snatch it back with a grin.

“Ah-ah,” he said teasingly. “Nothing comes free. What will you trade for it?”

“What would you like?” Berenger asked with a smile.

“How about a poem?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Berenger said, taking the cigarette and puffing on it thoughtfully as he considered which poem to recite. The smoke was less harsh than the smoke from his pipe, less strong. It was also unpleasantly bitter, whereas Berenger’s pipe tobacco was spiced with Vaskian herbs to make it taste nutty and almost sweet.

 _“It was not the cavalry, nor the infantry,”_ Berenger started quietly. _“...Or even the navy, but another strange kind of army that destroyed me, striking me down with his eyes.”_

“How wonderfully melodramatic,” Ancel said, though there was a faint blush over his cheeks. “I think I preferred the one about Aemilius.”

“Of course,” Berenger said, biting back a smile. _“He screws all the girls he can find and makes himself out a charmer, and somehow he’s managed to escape being sent to the grinding-mill and donkey’s work. But the girl who’d touch him would be willing to lick the scrofulous backsides of the public executioner.”_

Ancel laughed, the sound like a balm to Berenger’s troubled soul.

They were interrupted by a servant, walking towards them in a rush. “Master Ancel,” he said. “Master Louans requests your presence.”

Ancel’s expression darkened. “What now,” he muttered, taking a hurried drag from his cigarette to finish it. “I’d better see what he wants.”

“Don’t,” Berenger said. He had a feeling he knew what Louans would want to see Ancel for, and he wasn’t about to let the old fool steal him away into the night.

Ancel glanced over at him uncertainly. “I really should probably go.”

“Do you want to?”

Ancel blinked as though the thought of what he wanted had never occurred to him. “I… no.”

“Then don’t,” Berenger said simply. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Ancel smiled uncertainly.

“Let him wait,” Berenger said.

Ancel’s smile widened. “Alright,” he said, almost shy as he brushed his hair back behind his ear. “Let him wait.”

Berenger turned to the servant, still waiting before them. “Please tell Louans that Ancel will be staying with me,” he said.

“As you like, my lord,” the servant said. He bowed and turned to go, leaving Ancel and Berenger alone once more.

Ancel lit another cigarette. Berenger told him another poem. They spent the rest of the evening in easy companionship before Berenger stood, bidding Ancel good night. Ancel stood too, looking up at him. He looked oddly soft in the moonlight, a bright young man rather than a skilled manipulator.

Abruptly Berenger realized that this was likely the last time he’d see Ancel. He swallowed and dropped his hand into his pocket, pulling out the emerald earring he’d been carrying with him this whole time.

“It’s past time I returned this to you,” he said, holding out the glittering ornament.

Ancel took the earring with an easy smile, slipping it into his ear expertly. He reached into his own pocket, pulling out Berenger’s lighter. “And I suppose you’d like this back as well?”

Berenger considered it in Ancel’s hand, the way the moonlight glinted off the gold case. “Keep it,” he said. “Something to remember me by.”

Something uncertain flitted through Ancel’s eyes but he quickly covered it up with his familiar confidence. “I’d prefer something else to remember you by,” he murmured, stepping forward and raising his hand to the back of Berenger’s neck.

Berenger moved too, helpless to stop himself as he cradled Ancel’s cheek in his hand and leaned closer. He wasn’t sure when he’d closed his eyes, but the feeling of Ancel’s lips against his was a shock. He was so warm, his lips so soft.

Ancel made a small pleased sound against him before tilting his head and opening his mouth, deepening the kiss into something more heated and urgent. Berenger responded in kind, his mind swimming as though he were drunk again, but this time he was drunk on Ancel.

Somehow he forced himself to pull back, opening his eyes in time to see Ancel sway forward only to catch himself, his lashes fluttering open too.

They were both frozen for a long moment, staring at each other, before Berenger cleared his throat and stepped back, out of Ancel’s reach.

“Good night,” he said with a small nod and left before his traitorous heart could betray him further.

Parsins was waiting in his rooms to help him undress for bed and Berenger let Parsins fuss over his laces.

“The purse with the five thousand sol,” he said when Parsins finished. “Have it delivered to Louans’ rooms.”

Parsins’ lips tightened. “My lord,” he said with a nod. “Louans left the villa in a hurry not an hour ago.”

“Good,” Berenger said. “The purse isn’t for him.”

“You don’t seem surprised,” Parsins said, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Berenger said. Technically it was the truth.

Parsins sighed in resignation but didn’t question him further, a small blessing. “I take it the pretty youth is saved from his callous master.”

“Yes,” Berenger said. “We leave first thing in the morning.”

“Very good, my lord,” Parsins said and saw himself out.

* * *

Berenger’s retinue left Rouart’s villa just after dawn, too early for anyone but servants to be about. He made sure to leave a letter for Rouart, thanking him for his hospitality, and another, simpler, letter to Droet.

He rode back to Varenne in the carriage, not particularly in the mood for riding. He felt odd, as though he was floating through an unpleasant dream. Everything felt _off._ The sun was too bright, colors seemed too dull. The singing of the birds in the trees was grating to his ears, the smell of flowers wafting in through the open windows unpleasantly cloying.

Through it all Berenger kept finding himself patting his empty pocket as though expecting to find Ancel’s earring within.

Foolish. It was all so foolish, just as he’d known from the start.

He returned to his work. There were two months left until he had to go to Arles and there was much to do still in Varenne. He shouldn’t have left. The whole trip had taken nearly a fortnight, what with travel there and back, as well as the stay at the villa. Berenger really couldn’t afford the break, he had no idea what he was thinking.

To make matters worse, Parsins kept _looking_ at him like he was liable to explode at any moment, or maybe collapse. It served to put Berenger further on edge and nothing seemed to ease his restlessness.

It all got abruptly worse two weeks after his return home, when his breakfast was interrupted by a harried maid, pale with worry.

“What is it?” Berenger asked, standing.

She looked terrified as she wrung her hands in her apron. “My lord,” she said, her voice cracking with nerves. “It’s- it’s the horses.”

“The horses?” Berenger asked, dread rising within him like a wave of ice. “What’s happened? Have they fallen ill? Have they-”

“They’re missing, my lord.”

Berenger drew up short. “Missing,” he repeated slowly.

“Stolen,” she said. “Half a dozen of them.”

“...I see,” Berenger said, sitting back down. Numbly, he took a sip of tea. “Which ones are missing?” he finally thought to ask.

She listed off six names, all horses from the retinue he’d taken to Rouart’s manor. Despite himself he started to smile.

“My lord?” the maid whispered.

“Yes,” Berenger said. “Tell Parsins to send out riders to the nearby towns. Perhaps someone has seen the thief passing through.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said, bowing before taking her leave.

It was possible that his horses really _had_ been stolen, which was troubling on several fronts. It was possible. It wasn’t likely.

Berenger felt odd for the next few hours, as though he were floating. In the afternoon a harried messenger arrived from Avignon, a small town two hours to the west. Berenger was familiar with it, having done business there in the past. They boasted some of the finest textile mills in Varenne, though the town originally sprang up around an emerald mine.

The message itself was brief- a young man had brought six horses bearing the mark of Berenger’s stables to a small inn in Avignon and purchased lodgings for the night.

“Oh no,” Parsins said when Berenger strode past him on the way to the stables. “No,” he said, hurrying along behind. “You’re not going alone.”

“It’ll be faster this way,” Berenger said easily. “Send a few stablehands after me to retrieve my horses.”

“My _lord,”_ Parsins hissed, but Berenger was already saddling Chestnut as she shuffled restlessly from foot to foot, picking up on his excitement. He mounted while Parsins was still protesting and waved to him before thundering out of the stables at a gallop.

He made good time, arriving at the inn just before sun down. He dismounted and handed over Chestnut’s reins to a flustered stable boy.

“Lord Berenger,” the boy said with an awkward bow.

“My horses,” Berenger said. “They’re here?”

“Yes,” the boy said. “Marc was the one to groom them when they were brought in. He noticed your sigil stamped into their horseshoes when he was cleaning their hooves and sent word right away.”

“Good,” Berenger said, walking deeper into the stables. One of his horses, a sweet older mare favoured by Parsins, poked her head out of a stall and pressed her nose to his chest, angling for a treat. “Hello Daisy,” Berenger murmured, stroking the side of her face.

At the sound of his voice five more horses moved to investigate and Berenger greeted them all in turn, slipping them bits of dried fruit from his pockets.

“They seem in good condition,” Berenger said.

“Yes, my lord,” said the stable boy.

“Very good,” Berenger said, turning back to the boy. “See to my horse. I expect my men will be arriving shortly to take back the others. Tell them-” 

He paused, considering the horses before him. His gaze fell on Ruby, a fetching strawberry roan and a newer addition to his stables.

“Tell them not to take that one,” Berenger said, pointing. “I’ll be bringing her and my own mount back myself.”

“As you say, my lord,” the boy said.

Berenger tossed him a coin and headed into the inn proper, where a fretting innkeeper met him in the common room.

“My lord,” he said, his voice pinched and shaking with nerves.

“The thief,” Berenger said. “He’s still here?”

“Yes,” the innkeeper said. “He paid for room and board until tomorrow. We didn’t discover what had happened until he was already in his room. I wasn’t certain what to do- summon the guards or- or-”

“You did the right thing,” Berenger assured him. “I’ll take care of it.”

“The key, my lord,” the innkeeper said, handing over a heavy brass key. “It’s the room at the top of the stairs.”

Berenger thanked him before heading upwards, his heart hammering in his chest.

The room wasn’t locked. The door was open a crack, the warmth and light of a fireplace spilling out in a thin line from beyond. Berenger pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it firmly behind himself.

Ancel was lounging on the bed wearing a simple white tunic, open at the neck and trailing laces. His legs were bare against the fur throw covering the lower half of the bed. He smirked as he took a long drink of wine from the glass he held in one hand.

“Lord Berenger,” he said.

“Ancel,” Berenger said. “Did you enjoy your ride?”

“Oh yes,” Ancel said. “There was a snake in the road. My horse jumped over it before I’d even noticed the little beast. They’re very well trained indeed.”

“There are better ways of getting my attention.”

“Are there?” Ancel asked mildly, taking another sip. “I suppose I could have sent a letter. This seemed more fun.”

“More reckless, for sure,” Berenger said. “What if the innkeeper had summoned the guards?”

Ancel’s eyes widened innocently. “Then I should hope you would have rescued me.”

“I might not have made it in time,” Berenger said. “Stealing a horse is a serious crime, punishable by public flogging.”

“Oh dear,” Ancel said. “I certainly wouldn’t want that. Perhaps we can come to some alternate arrangement.”

“Ancel,” Berenger said, helpless to suppress the fondness in his tone. “I don’t need a cousin.”

“But five thousand sol will certainly buy you one for a good long while,” Ancel countered.

“That-” Berenger started, pausing when Ancel shifted and the tunic slipped off one shoulder as if by accident. When he managed to drag his eyes back to Ancel’s face it was to see Ancel’s eyes were glittering with mirth. “That wasn’t- I wasn’t trying to _buy_ you. I simply wanted to ensure you were provided for while you… explored your future prospects.”

“But I can be useful to you,” Ancel insisted, frowning faintly now. “At court. I can help you. I’m good at politics, scheming. I’m good at a lot of things.”

“I know,” Berenger said quietly. “You’re the best.”

“And you want me,” Ancel said. “You _want_ me.”

“Yes,” Berenger said simply.

“So why won’t you _take_ me?” Ancel asked, clearly frustrated.

“Because you don’t want me. Not really.”

Ancel’s eyes widened and, to Berenger’s surprise, he laughed.

“Oh,” Ancel said, standing and setting his wine glass on the bedside table. “If I didn’t want you, I would have simply taken your money and gone. If I didn’t want you- why would I be here?”

“Ah,” Berenger said. If Ancel was faking his sincerity, he was doing a rather masterful job of it. Maybe Berenger was a fool, but he thought it might be real. “So it’s not simply because I’m rich and handsome.”

Ancel laughed again. “That certainly helps,” he said and leaned in for a kiss.

Berenger didn’t pull away, not entirely sure this was happening. It was tentative and slow, oddly uncertain compared to their first kiss at the fountain. Ancel smiled against his lips before pulling back. He wrinkled his nose. “You smell of horse.”

“Yes,” Berenger said. “I imagine I do.”

“There’s a private bathing chamber attached to the room,” Ancel said, taking his hand and pulling him over to a closed door.

“Ancel wait,” Berenger protested, flushing. “Wait. I wish to- do this properly. I wish to court you.”

“Court me?” Ancel asked incredulously. “That’s- daft. That’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Nevertheless,” Berenger said.

“Let’s count the picnic and the poetry as courting and move on to the rest of it,” Ancel said. “I’ve been wondering how you fuck.”

“In the usual ways, I would think,” Berenger said faintly as he let Ancel lead him to the bathing chamber.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Ancel said, looking back to wink.

The room was warm and hazy with steam, smelling faintly of minerals. The bath was full and ready as though Ancel had planned this from the beginning. Maybe he had.

“My lord,” Ancel said, stepping forward to push Berenger’s riding jacket off his shoulders.

Berenger closed his eyes when Ancel kissed him again, his fingers moving deftly to open the buttons on his vest and then the laces of his shirt, pulling the garments off easily. Berenger didn’t feel self-conscious until Ancel pulled away to run his gaze over his bare chest.

“Is something- the matter?” Berenger managed.

“No,” Ancel said with a laugh. “Quite the opposite.” He sank to his knees to unlace Berenger’s boots while all Berenger could do was stand and watch uselessly, flushing so hard he felt lightheaded.

When Ancel’s hands went to the lacings of his trousers where Berenger’s arousal was already straining the fabric Berenger took a step back, his heart thundering in his chest. “I can- finish on my own.”

“That’s quite the opposite of my intentions for the evening,” Ancel said with a pointed smirk, “but I suppose for now I’ll allow it.” He stood and turned away to retrieve soap and a washcloth from a shelf, giving Berenger the chance to finish undressing in semi-privacy.

He’d managed to settle in the bath by the time Ancel turned back around.

Ancel’s hair was curling in the steam, damp strands sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. His tunic had grown damp too, sticking to his skin and growing practically translucent. It was somehow more indecent than if he’d simply been nude and he left it on as he followed Berenger into the bath, straddling his lap.

The soap lay forgotten on the ground as Ancel leaned down to pull Berenger into a passionate kiss, nothing separating their bodies other than the damp fabric of that damn tunic. Berenger wrapped his arms around Ancel’s waist, pulling him closer before dragging one hand up his back to his hair, cupping the back of his neck. He deepened the kiss, pressing Ancel’s lips open with his tongue. Ancel’s resulting moan was like lightning shooting through him, making his fingers tighten of their own volition.

Ancel pulled back, panting hard. He was smiling. “You act all prim and proper but you kiss like you’re starving for it.”

“I am starving for it,” Berenger murmured. “For you.”

Ancel blushed, but maybe that was the heat of the room. He leaned in again, sliding his hands over Berenger’s shoulders, down his chest. He shifted and Berenger could feel his arousal brushing against his own. He moved to take both of them in hand, stroking slowly. Ancel moaned again, moving to hide his face against Berenger’s neck, his breath hot over his damp skin.

“Get this off,” Berenger muttered, plucking at the tunic with his free hand.

Ancel laughed and peeled the fabric away from his skin, letting it drop outside the bath with a wet plop. And then all of him was bare to Berenger’s gaze and he couldn’t get enough, drinking him in. He wanted to kiss every inch of skin, lavish attention on every freckle. He wanted everything, but he could wait for that. For now, it was enough to have Ancel sighing in his arms, pressing closer.

Berenger sped up the motion of his hand and Ancel melted against him, arms around his shoulders gripping tight. His body was taut like a bowstring, tense and trembling. Berenger turned his face to press kisses to the side of Ancel’s neck, trying to commit every part of this moment to memory.

They were both too worked up for it to last much longer. Ancel came first with a pretty gasp, Berenger following soon after. They were silent and still for a while as the bathwater cooled around them, until Ancel finally pulled back with a sated smile, post-coital bliss making him soft and pliant.

“Come to bed,” he murmured.

“What about washing,” Berenger said, suddenly acutely aware that they’d never gotten around to actually using the soap.

“Fuck washing,” Ancel said, rising. He pulled two towels off a nearby shelf and handed one to Berenger before drying off with the other. There was nothing particularly sexual about it, but it was _Ancel,_ and so Berenger found himself rather distracted as he tried to wipe the water from his own body.

Ancel caught him watching and laughed again, taking his hand to drag him to bed.

They kissed a while, slow and languid as they lay curled around each other. Once Ancel was hard again Berenger opened him up with oiled fingers, careful and thorough until Ancel finally pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him with an impatient huff.

Berenger was far from a virgin, but most of his previous experiences had been rushed, furtive. There had been little time or opportunity to simply indulge in the pleasure of closeness, the joy of exploration.

Ancel was like no lover Berenger had ever had- enthusiastic and confident, playful even as he was demanding. Berenger wanted to give him everything he wanted, and set out to do so with relish. He finished with Ancel riding him, and when Ancel rolled away with a self-satisfied smirk Berenger moved to take him in his mouth, pushing his fingers back inside while Ancel keened, arching his back.

“You’re perfect,” Berenger whispered afterwards, when Ancel lay curled up against him with his head on Berenger’s chest and his arm around his waist.

“Mm,” Ancel hummed, pleased. “I know.”

Berenger laughed and Ancel moved to prop his chin up on his hand, looking down at Berenger below him.

“I’ll need more jewels, you know,” he said matter-of-factly. “If we’re to go to court. And clothes. And papers.”

“Papers?” Berenger asked, momentarily confused.

“Yes, papers,” Ancel said, rolling his eyes. “Exactly which branch of the family tree did I fall from, _cousin?”_

“Ancel,” Berenger said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Ancel’s ear. “I told you. If you’re to come to court with me, it won’t be as my cousin.”

Ancel frowned, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. Berenger brushed it away with his thumb. “Then... what?” Ancel asked.

“My consort.”

Ancel’s eyes widened in shock. “What?!” he asked. “But that- that isn’t done! It’ll be a scandal!”

“Then let it be a scandal,” Berenger said simply.

“But your reputation-”

“Will be fine,” Berenger laughed. “Honestly, you and Parsins will make a fine pair. Perhaps I should be the one to worry about my reputation while the two of you spend your time on other matters.”

“We’ll be the talk of the court,” Ancel said.

“I imagine you might enjoy that,” Berenger said.

Ancel huffed out a soft laugh, laying back down and tucking his head under Berenger’s chin. “Yes,” he murmured. “I imagine I will.”

  
  


_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Note: Papillose - Bearing, covered with or resembling papillae; papillary, papillate. From Latin papilla (“nipple”). Aka. Nipple town. https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/papilla
> 
> Berenger’s Poem - https://themagentahornet.com/ancient-greek-love-poems.html  
> Ancel’s Poem - https://sententiaeantiquae.com/2016/10/22/a-few-dirty-poems-from-the-greek-anthology/  
> Berenger’s Poem (Catullus) - https://www.harvardreview.org/content/down-and-dirty-translations-of-catullus/
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)


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